


the trick is to want what you get (not to get what you want)

by moorglade



Series: An Officer and a Submissive [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - D/s, Angst, Collars, Dom Rodney McKay, Dom Ronon Dex, Dom Teyla Emmagan, Fluff, Multi, OT4, Sub John Sheppard, Submissive-ist attitudes in a D/s universe, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 04:32:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6223978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moorglade/pseuds/moorglade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I, 2nd Lieutenant John Quentin Sheppard, declare that I am an uncollared submissive, with one previous collaring ended by mutual consent.  I seek this marriage of my own free will, under no threats or coercion.  Are there any tops present who seek to claim me?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	the trick is to want what you get (not to get what you want)

John paced back and forth in the small pantry, which had been pressed into temporary service as a waiting room. He wasn’t nervous, exactly, but in that strange Zen-like state which was usually the prelude to throwing himself directly between his team and someone trying to harm them. Without him being consciously aware of anything around him, the back of his mind was still cataloguing every bit of data, building up into the perfect situational awareness which underlay most of the stories of his luck. 

From the next pantry along he could hear the familiar cadences of Rodney’s voice, the words themselves muffled by the wall between. It was supposed to be bad luck for him to see them before the ceremony, and Rodney, who didn’t believe in superstition, was suddenly obsessively reluctant to tempt fate. John hadn’t seen anyone at all since the evening of the day before, when he’d returned to his old quarters to spend a last night there, alone. 

Rodney’s voice trailed away, to be replaced by a quiet murmur from Ronon, and a slightly louder one from Teyla. John nodded in satisfaction, smoothing his hands down his bare thighs with what positively, definitely, _was not_ nerves. He was wearing a short robe, the burnt amber colour of _n’nala_ flowers, whose sudden blossoming heralded the glad arrival of the brief Satedan spring. 

He wasn’t wearing anything else. 

He was about to get married. 

\- 

_After his brief attempt at pretending to be a top was discovered, John had known the Air Force wouldn’t teach him to fly. He’d known that the closest he’d get to serving his country would be in an administrative capacity. He’d known that if he joined up, there would be no career, and nothing to move up to beyond being a morale sub._

_“If you’re so eager to take orders for a living, why don’t you start by listening to mine?” his father had said, at least as much baffled as angry._

_John hadn’t had an answer for him. He’d known he was exchanging one set of chains for another. But hey, he was a sub. He was supposed to like that sort of thing, right?_

\- 

Outside the door, the murmur of many voices died away, and John took a deep breath as he heard Dr Weir begin the opening speech. It wasn’t exactly the usual ceremony, but then neither he nor Rodney were traditionalists, and Teyla and Ronon each had a completely different set of cultural practices. There was every chance that John would never see Earth again, and he couldn’t find it in himself to grieve. He had given himself over utterly to Pegasus, and this was a Pegasus marriage; blended, unique, growing joy in the ashes of past sorrows. 

Miko opened the door with a reassuring smile, and John stepped out into the mess hall, grateful for the presence of another sub at his side. The room was packed with most of the expedition, and as many of their friends and allies from offworld as could be fitted in. John had imagined they’d have a quiet wedding – he’d suggested Miko and Halling as his guests, plus whoever his spouses wanted to invite, but Teyla had wanted to celebrate in the full Athosian style. And John could never deny her anything that would bring her joy, particularly not when he’d learned that Ronon’s family had also had a tradition of grand public weddings. 

He followed Miko between the two blocks of guests, his eyes modestly downcast, and to John’s surprise the floor felt warm beneath his bare feet. He directed a thankful thought to the City who loved him, who in her own way was doing what she could to make the experience as comfortable as possible. Miko squeezed his hand with an encouraging whisper, then took her seat. The last step was for John to take alone. 

And then he was in front of the table Dr Weir was standing on, in lieu of the usual dais, and all thoughts of everything else flew out of his mind as she asked the first question. 

“Do you declare you are free to seek this marriage?” 

\- 

_By the time John joined the Air Force, the role of subs in the military was beginning to change. He was taught that under carefully controlled circumstances, subs could be good servicemembers. He was taught that the role of a morale sub was to provide service, and that his rank was given as a courtesy in order for him to give special care to the tops in command. He was taught that he would never be expected to give orders, that he would always be under the supervision of a qualified top, and that the best thing he had to offer his country was his submission._

_John learned that he’d been born with the wrong dynamic to expect anything to ever be offered to him on a silver platter._

\- 

“That’s your cue, Lieutenant,” Dr Weir said, smiling down at him with almost maternal tenderness. 

John fumbled with the knot of the robe, shrugging it off and letting the soft fabric fall at his feet. He turned round, making a deliberate effort not to conceal anything from the rows and rows of watchers, and sank to his knees, keeping them about shoulders’-width apart, his hands behind his back. 

He didn’t raise his eyes from the floor. Not only was he meant to be demonstrating his complete submission, but John didn’t want to see how many of the tops of Atlantis were taking advantage of their last opportunity to freely ogle him. 

Not that he was anything worth staring at, John knew all too well. He was skinny, hairy, scarred, and almost forty. Apart from keeping his hair in good condition, he took very little trouble over his beauty regime. He had a laugh that had been the despair of his finishing school instructors and embarrassed even him, and a voice which was the exact opposite of melodically beautiful, even when he was trying his hardest to control it. He was sarcastic, and terrible at understanding his own feelings, let alone talking about them, and he was never going to stop exploring the universe, even if he’d had to become a homemaker in order to do it. 

And despite all that, maybe even _because_ of all that, he’d got three tops who loved him anyway. 

“I, 2 nd Lieutenant John Quentin Sheppard, declare that I am an uncollared submissive, with one previous collaring ended by mutual consent. I seek this marriage of my own free will, under no threats or coercion. Are there any tops present who seek to claim me?” 

\- 

_John’s first commanding officer had been a good person._

_John had assumed she was, anyway. He’d not had much contact with her beyond morale duty, and even that had been rare enough. But the orders which had been passed down to him had given John much of the unit’s routine paperwork to do, and he’d been trusted to complete it with only a proportion of his work needing to be double-checked. It wasn’t exactly how he’d imagined being in the Air Force would be, but John had told himself that at least he was making a difference to the tops on the front lines. Apart from the wrist cuff locked in place when his commission was activated, he could almost have been any other young officer._

_John’s second commanding officer had believed there was no place for a sub in the officers’ mess, unless on their knees. After two weeks it was crystal clear to John that he was an embarrassing symbol of the changing times, and he had soon been transferred to another unit. He hadn’t seemed to be any less of an embarrassment there, and John had begun to realise just how incredibly fortunate he’d been with his first posting._

_Once he’d accepted that no matter how hard he tried to serve well, he would rarely be trusted with even the most basic administrative work beyond his morale duties, John had realised that it was just another game he couldn’t possibly win. And if he couldn’t win, he’d been determined to lose **spectacularly**. He’d learned how to slouch and to smirk, and how to make smart remarks that flirted along the edge of toppy behaviour without ever quite tipping over into insubordination. _

_When he was finally sent out to Afghanistan, John had felt quite flattered that he’d managed to irritate the Air Force into hoping he’d die in a war zone._

\- 

There was a pause, and John flicked his eyes up to glance at the door of the other pantry. It wasn’t that he doubted them, not for one minute, not for one second, but, _but_ – 

Ronon stuck his head out and winked, unseen by everyone except for John and Dr Weir, who was far too well-mannered to mention that three-quarters of the wedding party seemed to be overdue. There was a muffled squawk, and then Rodney was quite obviously shoved out of the pantry. 

Rodney looked about two breaths away from a panic attack, as though it were him and not John who was naked. His hair was standing on end, his floor-length robe was crumpled down one side, and as he caught sight of John kneeling beside Dr Weir’s table his breath whooshed out in a huge sigh of relief, as though he’d half-expected the whole thing to be some sort of elaborate hoax. 

John couldn’t help but smile then, trying to let his face show how much he wanted this, how much he wanted _them_. Rodney caught his eye and nodded shakily, as though he’d heard the words that John couldn’t speak, the ones that only ever came out right when the four of them were lying together in the dark. He squared his shoulders, and marched up to the front. 

“I, Dr Rodney McKay, PhD, PhD – do you need my qualifications? Because if you do I can, I can give you the full list, but it might take some – ” 

“It’s fine,” John murmured, even though he wasn’t supposed to speak, wasn’t supposed to move. He inched sideways a little and put a hand on Rodney’s right calf, the only bit of him that he could reach. “I don’t care.” 

“You _ought_ to care that you’re marrying the smartest man in two galaxies,” Rodney huffed, but he reached down to run a hand through John’s hair, which he was wearing loose, as was traditional for an Athosian wedding. John closed his eyes, leaning into the petting, and then had to grin when Dr Weir cleared her throat. 

“Shall we take that bit from the top, gentlemen?” she suggested, diplomatic patience covering her usual steely determination. “Full name will be fine, Rodney. If you’ll begin again?” 

“ _Fine_ ,” Rodney said huffily, and to John’s surprise it was almost the traditional words that he used. “I, Dr Meredith _Rodney_ McKay,” he said, glaring daggers at everyone in the room, Dr Weir included, “do lay claim to this submissive in the presence of these witnesses. I offer my collar, my joys and sorrows, my home and my love. I would gift you my dominance, if you will gift me your submission, for so long as we both shall live. Do you accept my claim to you?” 

John nodded, because he really _wasn’t_ supposed to say anything, not until all three of them had spoken. Rodney beamed at him, flushed and breathless, and then stepped behind so he could rest his hands on John’s shoulders. John leant back into the familiar comfort, and the two of them waited for Dr Weir to speak again. 

\- 

_Everyone was terribly kind to John afterwards._

_He should never have switched the helicopter’s radio on, while he cleaned and tidied and did his best to make its drab interior look slightly more appealing. Whether he was doing a dreary job or not, the radio chatter was no business of the morale sub. He should never have heard Captain Holland’s crash, and the other pilots being told it was too dangerous to attempt to retrieve him. He’d known quite well he shouldn’t have been listening._

_He should never have tucked his hair up under a cap, removed his earrings, and covered his wrist cuff with the long sleeves of someone else’s jacket. He should never have found a pilot, and ordered him to head for the position of the wreck._

_But he had, and Captain Holland had been saved._

_John had expected disciplinary action, a court-martial, and at best a dishonourable discharge. If tops were expected to obey their orders without question, he dreaded to think what might happen to a sub who disobeyed, no matter what the result of his actions had been._

_He hadn’t considered how the situation might appear to a top._

_The base psychologists had explained gently to John that of course he’d made a very wrong decision, but that he had nothing to blame himself for. No sub could be expected to control the desire to help a top in pain, and he should never have been placed in such a difficult situation with no top to supervise him. They’d told him that the stresses of being in a war zone had led him to put himself in such a dangerous position as a subconscious cry for help._

_They’d sent him to Antarctica. They’d told him it wasn’t a punishment, just a posting better suited to his skills and abilities, where he would be quite, quite safe. Carrying boxes of scientific equipment around the small research base was exactly the sort of work which would help John to feel useful and proud to serve again._

_When he’d received the verdict John had laughed and laughed and laughed almost until he’d cried, although that had been enough to snap him out of it. No matter how many times he’d been told that a good cry was healthy for a sub, and that supressing his emotions was damaging, somehow the tears never came, and he didn’t want them to. He’d wondered whether he’d be better off resigning his commission. He’d known that all it would take was one phone call to his father, and he could fly back home to the family business, to be trained as a corporate host until the day he could make a useful marriage to a well-connected top._

_Instead he’d packed up his belongings, bought the best cold-weather gear he could afford, and wondered whether he’d be able to persuade any of the scientists to teach him how to ski._

\- 

“Is there any other top present who wishes to make a claim on this submissive?” Dr Weir asked. Before she’d finished speaking Teyla was walking down the aisle, her robe flowing as beautifully around her as Rodney’s was crumpled. 

“I, Teyla Emmagan, daughter of Tagan, daughter of Torren, lay my claim before you,” she said, eyes very soft as she gazed down at John. “I would protect you as you protect me, as we love and live and journey together, and give you a home at my side, wherever the path may lead us. Ancestors willing, I would bind myself to you, and you to me, for the rest of our days. Will you accept my claim on you?” 

John nodded again, his throat tight at these very public declarations of love and ownership. He stretched his hand up to Teyla, and she pressed a kiss to his palm before clasping his hand firmly in hers. 

“Well, Rodney?” she said, somewhere above John’s head. 

“We didn’t practice this bit!” Rodney said in an anguished whisper. “But you – you know I – it’s not just. It’s. It’s all four of us, or. It’s. Will you marry me?” 

“I will,” Teyla said, and although John couldn’t see her face he knew she was smiling, just as he was. It would never _not_ be funny, watching his tops playing dominance games with each other. “And will you too marry me?” 

“Of course I will, I – ” Rodney said, his voice dropping to something soft and achingly tender. “Yes. _Yes_.” 

“Then all is well,” Teyla said gently, and she squeezed John’s hand as she leant over him to kiss Rodney. 

\- 

_Immediately before they’d been due to step through the gate, Colonel Sumner had called a meeting of his command staff. He’d looked them over, gaze flat and unreadable, then introduced his second in command, Major Ling Meihui. John had known a few subs who’d served under her, so he knew that she was strictly by-the-book, but scrupulously fair. She’d only recently joined the SGC, but from what John had heard she’d already gained a reputation for being as good in a first contact situation as she was under enemy fire. Colonel Sumner he knew nothing about at all, except that he hadn’t even looked at John when ordering him to serve the coffee._

_“How old are you, Lieutenant?” Colonel Sumner had asked suddenly. John had swung round, startled and graceless, but Colonel Sumner hadn’t been talking to him._

_“Twenty-four, sir!” Lieutenant Aidan Ford had said eagerly. “Almost twenty-five.”_

_Lieutenant Ford had been at the SGC for three years. John had heard that he’d been under consideration to command his own gate team before the chance to explore the city of the Ancients had arisen. He was nine years younger than John, already outranked him, and had had opportunities that a sub could only dream of._

_2 nd Lieutenant Sunetra Kulkarni was twenty-three, and almost as painfully enthusiastic as Lieutenant Ford. She’d been with the SGC for eighteen months, most of which she’d spent battling the Replicators with SG-12. She was nominally of the same rank as John, but he hadn’t fooled himself for one moment that that meant anything. _

_Colonel Sumner had outlined the tentative plans they had put in place for after their arrival in Atlantis, assuming the dial-in succeeded and that it was deemed safe to proceed. He’d briefly described their planned operational roles to Lieutenant Ford and the other officers, and ensured that everyone was familiar with the necessary protocols._

_He hadn’t spoken to John at all until after he’d risen to leave. “Oh, and Lieutenant Sheppard’ll be the morale sub,” he’d said, as though it were an afterthought. “There’ll be no disobeying orders under my command, Lieutenant. You’ll handle morale duty and any administration I choose to give you, and if I catch you trying to give orders to anyone or interfering with the chain of command you’ll be locked up until you can be returned to Earth. Is that clear?”_

_“Yes sir, I think I understand,” John had said as sarcastically as possible, but he’d known he didn’t have any choice. When a crate in Antarctica had tipped over he’d accidentally touched something, and the next thing he’d known he’d been subjected to a battery of tests, told that aliens were real, and ordered on a mission to another galaxy._

_Twenty-four hours after their arrival in Atlantis, Lieutenant Kulkarni had burst back through the gate with three hundred and nine Athosian refugees, and the news that Colonel Sumner and Major Ling had been captured. Eighteen hours after that, Lieutenant Ford had returned from the rescue mission having been able to save just five captive Athosians. After Major Ling and one of the Athosians had died being fed on by a Wraith, he had shot Colonel Sumner to save him from the same painful death. The Wraith had been awakened, and they knew about Earth._

_But John hadn’t really started to panic until after Lieutenant Kulkarni had sacrificed herself to save the city from an energy creature. They’d been in Atlantis less than a week, and somehow he’d become the second most senior commissioned officer._

_John hadn’t wanted to act as Lieutenant Ford’s XO. He didn’t know if he was capable of doing it, let alone whether the military tops would accept him. But Lieutenant Ford had given him a direct order, and he’d also known that it was the most helpful service he could offer to the expedition. So he’d cut his hair short, dropping the dark plait off a balcony and watching as it floated away with the Lantean tide. He’d hoped that was a good sign. Then he’d taken a long, deep breath, and reminded himself that once upon a time he’d pretended to be a top. Maybe he’d got his opportunity to find out what it would’ve been like after all._

\- 

“My turn,” Ronon said, and there was something so shockingly young and happy and astonished in his face that John had to look away for a moment, before he said something that was better kept for in private. It was a good thing he was already down on his knees, because he wanted to curl up at their feet and bask in their love and dominance for the rest of his life. 

“I, Specialist Fifth-Class Ronon Dex, of the House of Dex, of the Seventh District Dex-ataria, want to marry all of you. How about it?” 

“That is the worst proposal I have _ever heard_ ,” Rodney said, but he was smiling in spite of himself. “Yes. Sometimes I do wonder about my sanity, but yes.” 

“Good, I’ll marry you too,” Ronon said. “Teyla?” 

“Yes,” she said, inclining her head gracefully. “And you will marry me?” 

“Yeah,” said Ronon, and then he reached down to tilt John’s face upwards, so he could look into his eyes. “I want you to be mine; I want you to be ours, John. Will you accept my claim over you?” 

John nodded so hard he banged his head against Teyla’s sharp elbow. He’d never wanted _anything_ like the way he wanted to belong to the three of them. 

\- 

_John’s time as Lieutenant Ford’s XO had lasted eight days._

_It wasn’t just that he hadn’t known what he was doing. If Lieutenant Ford had been more familiar with the job himself, he could have guided John until he’d learned to do what was required. But he’d been almost as unprepared to become the base’s military commander as John had been to be placed in a position of authority._

_A lifetime of taking orders hadn’t in the slightest equipped John to give them. He’d lurched awkwardly between snapping out commands in his best imitation of a top, and asking politely, as he’d always been expected to do. He’d known quite well that the little amount of respect he was given was for the rank insignia he was wearing, and not for the sub beneath them._

_Thanks to the capability of Sergeant Bates, none of their bad decisions had proved fatal. But after a week he’d taken Lieutenant Ford aside, and told him that John had no place in the chain of command. Morale, which was supposed to be John’s main concern, was plummeting. If even the morale sub had been pressed into a position of leadership, it was little wonder that people were beginning to draw their own conclusions as to the desperation of their circumstances._

_Lieutenant Ford wasn’t so wet behind the ears as to disregard the voice of experience, and he’d given John a different job to do. Trader Teyla Emmagan was an experienced merchant, and Dr Rodney McKay the expedition’s expert on ZPMs. The two of them had proposed they visit the many markets Trader Emmagan knew, in the hope of acquiring another Ancient power source, even if it wasn’t a ZPM. Dr Weir had agreed with their logic, although she’d insisted that their first trade priority be to supplement the expedition’s food supplies._

 __

_All they'd needed was an escort with the ATA gene to fly the gateship._

\- 

“Three tops have declared a claim on you,” Dr Weir told John. “Do you accept any or all of them?” 

John shuffled round on his knees so that he was looking at them, or would be, if he could lift his eyes any higher than the floor. It had taken him three weeks to compose his acceptance, with help from what felt like half the city. Miko and Halling had taken to rewriting it every time the three of them were hanging out in the subs’ room. Dr Weir, knowing John’s skills at procrastination, had emailed him every day for the past two weeks, reminding him that he had a deadline. Dr Beckett, who had a heart of gold and the soul of a meddler, had trotted out suggestions at each post-mission check-up for a month. 

His friends and colleagues had helped him shape what he wanted to say, but in the end the words, few as they were, were all John’s own. 

“You boss me around better than anyone I’ve ever known,” he told Rodney’s feet. Rodney made a happy little sound at the compliment, and John found that he could go on. “You don’t treat subs as though they’re less intelligent than tops. You don’t even _care_ what anyone’s dynamic is, just whether they’re morons or not. I never met a top who didn’t think my dynamic was the most important thing about me before you. You give the _best_ head-rubs. You let me protect you offworld. You don’t care what the rest of the galaxy thinks about you letting your sub go first, you let me do that for you, serve you that way – ” 

“I trust you,” Rodney said softly, running his fingers through John’s hair. “Who cares if you’re never going to host the perfect dinner party? I’d far rather have you able to work out that our trade partners are about to turn on us, and then lay down cover fire while yelling at me to get moving. Maybe it’s not exactly what they taught you in finishing school, but it’s not like there’s much call around here for perfectly folded napkins.” 

“I accept your claim on me,” John said, voice a little rough and shaky as he pressed a kiss to Rodney's feet. He took a deep breath, and then turned to Teyla. 

“You can put me down on my knees blindfolded and with one hand behind your back.” Teyla’s fingers caressed his cheek, and John knew that she loved the fact that she could physically dominate him just as much as he did. “You believed I could lead our team even after I’d screwed up as XO. You kept giving me sayings about leadership until I finally got that you were teaching me what to do. And you never let me get away with fooling myself about anything, because you know me better than, uh…” 

“Say rather that you are so unaccustomed to acknowledging your feelings exist that you struggle to identify them accurately,” Teyla said, her voice warm and fond and rippling with laughter. “We have the rest of our lives to work on improving your social skills.” 

“I accept your claim on me,” John said, leaning into her touch. And then he turned to Ronon. 

“You push me all the time to be better. You challenge me every day to keep up with you, and yeah, of course I never can, but I like that in a top,” John said, a smile flickering over his face for a moment. “You give _massages_. You stayed. You could have gone anywhere, and served under another top, but you _stayed_ , trusted me – ” 

“I met this hot sub,” Ronon said, eyes dancing with laughter. “Wasn’t going to leave after that.” 

“You’re big enough to make me feel small, and – protected,” John said finally, pink to the tips of his ears. “I accept your claim on me. I belong to all three of you. I want to wear your collar.” 

\- 

_When John had first seen Rodney and Teyla making out after one disastrous mission or another, he hadn’t precisely been jealous. Relationships between tops weren’t that uncommon, at least on Earth, and it wasn’t as though there were many subs in the expedition. Sure, he would have gone to his knees for either or both of them in a heartbeat, but it was probably for the best that the temptation had been removed. He cared for them both far too much to just fool around, and collared subs weren’t permitted to serve in the military. He’d already resigned and come back after his first marriage had failed, and he’d worked too hard to become a team leader they could respect to give that up for any relationship, no matter how he might otherwise have felt about the idea._

_Besides, it wasn’t like he wasn’t used to being alone._

_It had still stung a little, each time the two of them made a pass at John, letting him know he’d be welcome, and he’d had to turn them down. But that was just how tops were: they lived in a world where settling for anything less than having it all was the same as complete failure._

_Somehow they had still wanted to be friends with John. And maybe it was because they were in another galaxy, but he let them._

\- 

They did the Athosian ceremony first. Teyla took a soft cloth, dipped it in the bowl of warm water, and began to wash John. He tried his best to keep his body from reacting too much, and Rodney and Ronon stepped in front of him, sheltering him from the eyes of the watching crowd. Dr Weir politely looked away. 

“There,” Teyla said softly, almost under her breath, once every part of John had been washed. She patted him dry with what he had been assured was a ceremonially lavender towel, and then handed it off to Ronon. “You are cleansed from the past, John; it has all been washed away, so that all that remains are memories. Your body is untouched.” 

“Mark me,” John said, his voice cracking embarrassingly as he held his arms out in the position she had taught him. “Please. Put your marks on me.” 

For him to belong to all three of them, they all needed to mark him. Rodney went first, dipping his finger in the yellow powder, and drawing the Athosian character for _protect_ on John’s left shoulder as deftly as though he were writing equations. When the four of them had discussed which symbols to use, Teyla had drawn it in the open hand form, so that it also meant _protection_ , as well as _protector_ and _protected_. 

Ronon drew on John’s right shoulder with the green powder. _Serve_ was in the sickle moon form, so that it also meant _service_ and _serving_ and _servant_ , but not _to be served_. And lastly, Teyla took the brown powder, and drew _beloved_ on the side of John’s neck in the closed, complete form. Not only did it mean that he was valued for being exactly who he was, but also that he need never doubt how deeply he was loved. 

\- 

_After the SGC had so unexpectedly sent help in preparation for the Wraith siege, Colonel Everett had insisted all non-essential personnel be evacuated off-world. Only those able to assist with the defence of the city were permitted to stay behind. Their number hadn’t included the morale sub._

_John had done his best to look after his group of frightened civilians, while he tried not to think about whether Rodney and Teyla and the others were still alive. After the longest six days of his life, Sergeant Stackhouse had emerged from the gate to tell them that Atlantis was still standing. The Wraith had been fooled into leaving, and they could come home. John had reported to Lieutenant Ford, and then, duty discharged, he’d hurried to Rodney and Teyla’s shared quarters. He’d spent five minutes just kneeling at their feet, his heart overflowing with thankfulness, before he’d even been able to ask them what had happened._

_At the next staff meeting, John had finally got a look at their newly-arrived replacement commanding officer. Lieutenant Colonel Evan Lorne had given John a long, dubious look when Lieutenant Ford had explained the responsibilities John had been filling. John had been quite prepared to dislike Colonel Lorne. He’d had a lot of experience with commanding officers who’d judged him by his dynamic before they’d even met him._

_When Colonel Lorne had asked him a question, he’d opened his mouth to be difficult, but then he’d caught sight of the look of disappointment on Teyla’s face. She wasn’t his top, but she was still **a** top, and one of his best friends. So he’d swallowed a sarcastic retort in favour of a respectful answer, and folded his hands neatly like an acknowledgement that he was the only submissive in the room. _

_Colonel Lorne turned out to be the best commanding officer John had ever served under. He never made John kneel for his orders, or told him what a good boy he was. He’d given John a range of extra administrative responsibilities. And best of all, he’d agreed John could continue to lead Rodney and Teyla’s little team on trading missions._

_John had spent months waiting for the other shoe to drop, before it had finally dawned on him that there might not be one. With every other CO he’d had, he’d tried to equal the dominance of all the tops around him, with predictably hopeless results. Colonel Lorne knew John was a sub, and trusted him anyway, and John was submissive enough that he couldn’t help wanting to live up to that trust._

_After a while he’d asked permission to grow his hair out to regulation length again._

\- 

On Sateda, groupings of six or eight people had been the most common relationship units, and they’d usually consisted of one top and multiple subs. But Ronon was nothing if not pragmatic, so he’d adapted the bonding ceremony to account for the fact that they were three tops and one sub. 

John jumped over the red cloth, representing war, holding Teyla’s hand. He jumped the blue cloth for change and turmoil with Rodney, and the checked one for sickness and hunger with Ronon. They all jumped the white cloth, for the Wraith, together. And if John only had two hands and Rodney had to hold on to his shoulder, well, they were all four of them used to adapting to suit their circumstances. 

John knelt back down and placed a kiss to Ronon’s left ankle. “I want you to be my top,” he murmured. “You are my choice. You are for me. Will you take me to be your submissive?” 

“I will,” Ronon said, his voice thick with emotion. “Will you be the blade in my hand? Will you be the fire on my hearth? Will you be the cornerstone of my home?” 

“I will,” John said, and “I will,” and “I _will_.” He repeated his questions and answers with Rodney and Teyla, and once they had all accepted him, Colonel Lorne came up to the front. He was the closest thing John had to a Head of House, so it was for him to release John from the symbolic ownership of the Air Force, in order that he could be collared. 

“I belong to these tops,” John said, still a little bit pink around the ears. “Will you transfer ownership of me to them, sir?” 

“I will,” Colonel Lorne said. “Give me your wrist, Lieutenant.” 

John held up his right hand, and Colonel Lorne unlocked the cuff he had worn since the day he’d joined up. For a second John didn’t belong to anyone, and the feeling took his breath away like a punch to the stomach. He clamped his mouth shut, so as not to do anything so undignified as to start whimpering, but a tiny choking sound still escaped. 

Only then all three of his tops were there, petting all the bits of him they could reach, reminding him that the ceremony was only a formality, and that he was already theirs. John took a few deep breaths, and after a moment he was able to sit back on his heels and continue. 

“This submissive has chosen the three of you,” Colonel Lorne said. “I release him from the ownership of the US Air Force, and into your dominance.” He stepped aside, and then at last they were at the part of the ceremony that meant the most to John. 

“Collar me,” he said, leaning forward in his eagerness. “Collar and cuff me. Please, _please_ – ” 

\- 

_Ronon had joined the team, and then joined Rodney and Teyla’s relationship, and John had held himself back. On far-away Earth, the President had signed an order abolishing the prohibition on married subs in the military, and John had still held himself back. He’d known quite well that he was more than a little bit in love with all three of them, but how could they possibly agree to follow his lead in the field if they’d had him begging for them in the bedroom?_

_Then he’d turned part-way into a bug._

_Dr Beckett had searched the Ancient database, and reported that several of the original Lanteans had had similar repeat encounters with Iratus bugs. He’d warned that John might turn aggressive, territorial, even dangerous, and that he ought to be guarded at all times._

_John hadn’t remembered very much of what had happened, but when he’d lain in the infirmary afterwards, slowly shedding his scales, little flashes had kept coming back to him._

_Apparently all the Ancients it had happened to before had been tops._

_John had remembered being cold all the time, and the driving need to make a warm, safe place to live. He’d remembered hiding in a nest of tangled clothes and blankets, while Dr Weir had tried in vain to talk to him. He’d remembered wanting, **needing** to be touched, until the instinct had driven him out of his nest to creep across the floor to where his team were watching over him. _

_He’d remembered squirming around at their feet, rolling over onto his back to offer up his belly and throat to them. He’d remembered begging them with wordless keening wails to just take him._

_He hadn’t been able to remember the sex._

_John had spent a week despising himself and pretending to be asleep whenever his team visited, before Dr Beckett had worked out what was preoccupying him. He’d then explained briskly that the reason John couldn’t remember having bug-sex was because he hadn’t. Although he had indeed been giving off pheromones, they hadn’t been ones which would have any effect whatsoever on humans. His team had repeatedly petted him into a state of calmness, but no matter how eager John had seemed at the time, they hadn’t been prepared to take things further when he was in no state to properly consent._

_He’d eventually been discharged from the infirmary, no longer blue and with just the one new scar. After they’d been on three missions where everything was back to normal, John had begun to accept that his team really did love him, and like good tops had been waiting patiently for him to get over his own fears before he could decide if he wanted them. They’d seen him at his most utterly submissive, and they still trusted him to lead the team, so he’d begun to wonder if perhaps a normal relationship might be just doable._

_He hadn’t had any more urges to build a nest._

_He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the way they’d touched him: strong, caring, **possessive**._

\- 

Rodney pressed a kiss to the inside of John’s left wrist, and fastened the first cuff in place, and John felt as though he could breathe again. He’d been pretending that he didn’t need anyone’s dominance for so long that it didn’t seem possible that he was finally allowed to have this. 

Teyla kissed his right wrist, and fastened the other cuff, and for a moment John’s thoughts flashed back to his first marriage. Nancy had been a good top, but she’d wanted a much more traditional sub than John had even been able to pretend to be. Despite the degree he’d taken in Homemaking Studies, he’d never considered it anything other than the price of being a sub in a top’s world. And he still wasn’t very good at talking about his job, but with all three of his tops right there beside him on missions he no longer needed to try and find the words to explain. 

He couldn’t help but grin a little smugly to himself. Maybe it was reallythat he was just too much sub for any _one_ top to handle. Rodney snorted with laughter, correctly deciphering his expression, and kicked him gently in the shins. 

And then, at last, Ronon kissed the back of John’s neck, and fastened the collar round his throat, and he was _theirs_. He was _owned_. John made a wordless sound of contentment, leaning forward so he could rub his face against their legs, heedless of his stubble and their thin robes. 

After some time he was dimly aware of being pulled to his feet, and clothed in a long robe of deep olive green, the colour of the Satedan Inland Sea in the long, calm days of summer. Someone took his hand and he followed obediently, drifting blissfully in subspace. 

When he came back to himself, he was sitting at his new spouses’ feet in the Rec Room, draped bonelessly against Teyla as she petted his shoulders. He could feel something smooth and cool against his skin, along with the familiar caress of her hands, and he turned round and nuzzled at her fingers, still not feeling verbal. 

“They are a tradition of my mother’s people,” Teyla said, holding her hand out so that he could see the ornate metal bracelet. “Just as your cuffs symbolise your commitment to us, these mark our commitment to you, and to each other.” 

John pushed his face into her hand, hoping she would understand the questions he couldn’t articulate, and she smoothed her fingers over his brow. 

“Dr Zelenka has recorded the ceremony, so you will be able to watch the rest of it later. It is… important to me, that you understand that the bond from top to sub is just as strong and necessary as from sub to top.” 

John made a _hmmmm_ noise, and leaned back against her. If it was important to Teyla, it was important to him, and later, when he was actually capable of thinking beyond the awareness of her nearness, and warmth, and strength – 

“We done here?” said Ronon, dropping a casually possessive hand onto the back of John’s neck that made him shudder happily. 

“There _is_ more cake,” Rodney huffed. 

John leant sideways just enough to rest his head against Rodney’s leg, and Rodney huffed again and handed a piece down to him. Shaking his head, John looked pointedly at Rodney’s fingers. It was his wedding da _y_ : surely he was entitled to a little bit of hand-feeding? 

“Most demanding sub ever,” Rodney grumbled fondly, holding the piece of cake to John’s lips. John kissed the back of his hand, then took a bite. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but being hand-fed had always been one of his favourite things. He could feel himself slipping back under into a state of perfect contentment, where not even the knowledge of how stiff his knees would be in the morning could bother him, when suddenly his radio went off. 

“Colonel Lorne? The short-range sensors have just picked up a small group of Darts. They just appeared out of nowhere – we’re not sure why the long-range sensors didn’t detect them, but one group of Wraith at least has beamed down to somewhere on the south-west pier.” 

“Copy that,” Colonel Lorne said, already making his way out of the room at a run, his team on his heels. “Okay, people, this party’s been put on hold while we deal with some gate-crashers. Major Chepkirui, you and your team gear up and meet me by Transporter Fifteen in five minutes. Lieutenant Sheppard, I want you in the chair and the drones hot and ready to go. Captain Ford…” 

“Yes sir,” John said, jumping to his feet as Rodney crammed the rest of the piece of cake into his own mouth. “Okay, I can’t sit in the chair like this – I really need some pants – ” 

“I’ll get them,” said Ronon, taking off at a run. 

“Makes sense,” Rodney mumbled from around his mouthful of cake. “He’s quicker than you.” 

“Okay, people!” Doctor Weir said, clapping her hands together sharply. “Duty calls. Radek, I need you in the control room. We have to know why those darts weren’t picked up, and if there’s anything else out there. Rodney, I want you monitoring the chair’s power usage. We can’t afford to drain the ZPM unnecessarily even for a few seconds. Teyla, all the civilians need to…” 

As John sprinted through the corridors, he figured he ought to be feeling pretty annoyed. He’d been married less than an hour, and already the party was over. But honestly, he was okay with that. After all, this was Pegasus, where things rarely if ever turned out as expected, whether for good or ill. 

He touched one finger to the collar wrapped snugly round his throat, smiled to himself, then sat down in the chair and began to think about drones. 


End file.
